These 11 songs ping confidently around the post-genre electro-pop landscape.

It’s hard to keep up, then--but worth it.

By turns angry, celebratory, mournful, hopeful, here’s an album for complex times.

The title is optimistic: few of these vocalists display obvious potential, and their presence amid Hinton’s finely calibrated beats can be jarring. The clockwork production accentuates their awkwardness.... It helps that Hinton’s regard for these wannabe superstars seems genuine.

Sprinter combines the raw energy of Torres’s 90s forebears with modern minimalism; the result is captivating.

The commercial emo that has earned Tennessee's Paramore platinum sales is still present on their fourth album, as are the unremarkable ballads, but there's also a new willingness to try other genres. The results are mixed.

There is a form of mania at work here, but the results are propulsive and ecstatic.

This is a record chockful of beauty and thoughtful autobiography that only a more experienced, more assured songwriter could have made.

The result is a minor country-soul gem, full of lovely and deeply atmospheric instrumentation gilding Ford’s alluring vocals.

Short Movie’s best songs are all about Marling’s ongoing voyage of self-discovery; an indulgence we not only permit musicians, but pay them for, on the condition we can listen in and pick up tips. There are plenty of those here.

There are plenty of big tunes here and no shortage of chest-beating, but too often Brun’s lyrics bring things down with a bump, shooting for emotional sincerity but drifting into tepid platitudes.

A litany of icy threats, Break That (ft Suspect) doesn’t advance the genre much, but like much of this mixtape it does remind his original fanbase that Octavian is a threat as well as a hedonist street philosopher.

Lindsay’s wonky music, meanwhile--he plays most of the instruments--benefits hugely from the strength of Marling’s voice and persona. The only bum note is that there isn’t more Lump to treasure.

If III suffers a little from the patchiness endemic to the mission statement, musical freedom – a sense of unfettered “let it be”-ness – is the chief draw here.

Perhaps the NSFW art and videos for Vanity and En skew the narrative, but Mutant feels even more sexual than its predecessor.

Allelujah! picks up where Montreal's premier apocalyptic instrumental outfit left off, setting the collapse of the first world to wordless music.

Beneath the swearing there’s a sharp sense of humour and even sharper powers of observation, Williamson’s freeform wordplay painting vivid pictures of an at times uncomfortably recognisable contemporary Britain.

The star power of Alexander: an articulate, thoughtful frontman with depth as well as acting-out genes. Here, pop star after pop star (Britney, a little J Lo, the list goes on) is invoked on an album that sounds like a Spotify playlist.

Boy from Michigan doesn’t quite stick the landing as Grant forgoes his customary high-wire balance of wit and wry emotion for a more direct style. But it’s rich in bittersweet beauty and surreal levity.

Thebe Neruda Kgositsile (as his mum knows him) has as intuitive a grasp of how to punctuate a thought process with musical trigger points as any rapper in history.

An elegant, luminous album.

The results are less surprising than you might imagine.

Far more satisfying are the contemplative songs, in particular These City Streets, wherein the new and old Weller are reconciled.

The record is most effective when Lindén sounds more animated, as on I’ll Be the Death of You and the nimble, propulsive, Kraftwerk-influenced Neon Lights. Unfortunately these moments are overshadowed by lengthier excursions that give longueurs a bad name.

A captivating, low-key set from a singular talent.

Perhaps Money Plant is overlong, but the mournful coda of Ladder more than makes up for it. Yes, it’s a little one-dimensional, but it’s a lovely dimension.

anyone fond of latter-day leftfield singer-songwriters such as Sharon Van Etten or Waxahatchee will revel in discovering a more buttoned-up, southern version of their hypnotic relationship exegeses.

The lack of any sort of beat only adds to the disorientation. And yet, played loudly enough, Kannon sounds astonishing: by turns eerie, hypnotic and thrilling.